


Citronella

by Orianne (morganya)



Category: Whose Line Is It Anyway? RPF
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-09-09
Updated: 2001-09-09
Packaged: 2017-12-24 12:34:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/940075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morganya/pseuds/Orianne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which the cast goes camping, Colin's pluck fails, and Greg has a thing about bears.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Citronella

Colin had agreed to go on vacation with the Whose Line cast before he'd found out the trip was one of Drew's group self-improvement kicks. "It's going to be great!" Drew had crowed on the phone. "We'll be all by ourselves, just us guys and nature. We'll be like pioneers!"

 

He'd wondered why they would want to be like pioneers when they could sprawl on a beach drinking margaritas instead, but it was probably the last time he would be together with everyone as a group, and he was willing to deal with whatever Robert Blyesque idea Drew had.

 

The travel destination was somewhere in the Sierra Nevadas, in an aspen grove by the side of a mountain. There was a lake a mile or two from the campsite; Ryan and Drew were already planning a fishing expedition. There were no cabins; everyone would be pitching their own tent.

 

Everyone had their own ways of dealing with the sudden loss of civilization. Colin had spent years out in the wilderness of Halifax shooting Blackfly, so to keep himself occupied he kept a running tally of ways in which this trip wasn't so bad, really: there were mosquitos, but there didn't seem to be any black flies yet. Drew seemed to be having some sort of flashback to his Marine Corps days: he raced around delegating duties, keeping his backpack on the whole time. Piled high with supplies, it teetered over his head. Ryan surveyed the trees and rocks and dirt and said, "Eh, at least it's not Pomona," and went to gather firewood. Wayne, whom it didn't take much to excite, immediately wanted to go rock-climbing and when that was shot down, stood around saying, "Look at this! This is the coolest thing ever! Look at that! That's the coolest thing ever since I saw that other thing!" Brad suggested a group skinny-dipping expedition; that was also summarily shot down, as he'd probably known it would be. Kathy looked at them all amusedly, shaking her head, and went off mumbling, "Only woman here, what was I thinking?" Greg, however, was taking the culture shock hard.

 

Greg loved his creature comforts. He hated bugs and he hated physical labor and he hated being in a position where his hair could conceivably get mussed. His commentary had started out cautiously optimistic, had taken a detour into snarkiness, and after three hours of hiking, was fast approaching whining.

 

It got dark around eight; they slathered themselves in bug repellant and attempted to roast hot dogs over the fire. Drew was already sunburnt, but his back to nature ardor remained steady. He said, "I know! We can sing campfire songs!"

 

Greg replied, because everyone else was too polite, "Try and I'll fuckin' stab you with a frankfurter."

 

Spared from song, they put the fire out and went to separate tents, but for Ryan and Drew, who were both lusting for fish and wanted to get up early. The tents had been put up with varying degrees of skill; already some were drooping in the middle or tilting to one side.

 

Colin zipped the flap shut and crawled into the sleeping bag, but actually going to sleep didn't look like it was going to be easy. He was lying on an air mattress, but he still felt like he was in The Princess and the Pea; he could count five separate rocks underneath him, one nestled directly in the curve of his spine. The sleeping bag smelled musty. Crickets chirped outside the tent and the tree branches made a low, unearthly sound in the wind. The top of his head was cold.

 

All in all, his Canadian pluck was failing.

 

He struggled out of the sleeping bag and got dressed again. He'd spend a little time outdoors and he was sure the tent would be more inviting after getting bitten alive and flinching at every sound for a few minutes.

 

He tromped outside and restarted the fire before re-coating himself with bug repellant. The flames partly illuminated the campsite. The aspens, which had seemed straight and relatively innocent in the daytime, now seemed strange, white and black bark made orange, every faint curve exaggerated by shadow. A loon laughed sadly down by the lake.

 

Colin flinched when he heard the tent unzip. He looked wildly around for a weapon to fend off Jason or The Blair Witch or whoever it was.

 

"Eh, it's just me," Greg said. "Calm down." He came and sat down by the fire.

 

In the battle of the elements versus Greg's hair, the elements had won. The pompadour was a mass of cowlicks.

 

"Couldn't sleep?" Colin said.

 

"No. I figured I'd rather come die of exposure out here rather than lie around waiting for the bear to come tear open the tent and eat me."

 

"I don't know if there are any bears around here-"

 

Greg glared at him darkly. "There's *always* a fuckin' bear, Col. Always."

 

"Okay," Colin said. He looked at the fire, glad of the company but also glad not to have to say anything. Greg attempted to fix his hair, managing to consolidate the mass of cowlicks into one big one.

 

"It's like a *cycle* with Drew, man," Greg said. "Every couple of years, he wants to do the whole Grizzly Adams schtick before he comes to his senses like a normal person and goes into a hotel. And he can't do it alone, Christ, no. We'll have to make our own dental floss out of trout intestine next. Why'd I agree to come along this year, anyway?"

 

"Because you love us, Greg," Colin said sweetly.

 

Greg thought for a minute and scowled. "Fuck. Guess you're right." He got up. "Where'd we put the food and shit?"

 

"In the trees."

 

Greg pointed triumphantly at him. "Because of the bears. You see? Bears."

 

Colin shrugged. Greg hopped up and down, swinging at the plastic bag until he dislodged it, along with the branch. The snap was loud over the crackling fire. "Jesus, this is *heavy.* Drew planning to feed a whole army battalion?"

 

"You don't cook, Greg."

 

"I figure smores are simple enough even for me." Greg sat back down and took the ingredients out of the bag. He balanced the graham crackers on top of his knee. "Want one?"

 

Colin shook his head. Greg shrugged and unwrapped the Cadbury's. He looked incongruously solemn and intent, like a scientist testing the theory of relativity. Greg tended to become more serious when he was distracted by something, or when he thought people weren't watching him. Colin looked at the flames making shadows on his face and felt very fond of him, and he thought he might say so, but it never was that easy to say. So instead he said, "How is it?"

 

Greg broke off a light brown square from the bar and placed it on top of the cracker, licking his fingers absently. "Chocolate's kinda melty, but that's okay." He put a marshmallow on the end of his stick and waved it over the flames. "See if I can get this right." He looked up and surveyed the surroundings. "It's nice you were out here, Col."

 

"Eh. Least I can do."

 

"Next time, I'll see if I can talk Drew into going to Paris or Morocco or Cairo. Someplace that has buildings and shit."

 

"Think there'll be a next time?"

 

Greg squinted, then smiled sadly. "Well. Maybe not." He shrugged. "We can go see buildings some other time."

 

"That's on fire," Colin said, pointing to the marshmallow.

 

"Fuck!" Greg jerked the stick out of the flames and blew it out. "Aw, screw it." He sandwiched the blackened sugar between the graham crackers and took a bite. "Not too bad. Little ashy. Sure you don't want some?"

 

"A little, maybe."

 

Greg passed it over. Colin took a bite. The crackers were grainy, chocolate taste a little overpowered by burnt marshmallow, sweetness underneath the bitter flavor. He swallowed and passed it back. "It's nice."

 

"You've got sticky stuff around your mouth," Greg said.

 

Colin raised his hand and touched his lower lip. "Here?"

 

"No, it's a little…Here." Greg put the smore down and leaned over, brushing the corner of Colin's mouth. His fingers were deft and warm. Colin wanted to smile; Greg just looked so *serious,* but instead he reached out and wordlessly stroked the back of Greg's neck, hoping that was enough.

 

Greg took his hand away and wiped it off on his jeans, awkward but pleased. He grinned crookedly.

 

"There you go, Col. All better."


End file.
